


The Whole Game

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Series: As in all things... [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Chess, Comfort Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: Anthony comes back after a very rough day of crime.  They discuss problems with Harold and the Machine and make plans for the future.Season 4 spoilers





	

**Author's Note:**

> It always puzzled me how Anthony wound up dying. Why did he and Carl give up so quickly? Was it John's fault? Or was something else wrong? 
> 
> Also... there is so much chess talk and sacrifice talk. Could this have been intentional?

Yogorov had a point.  They should have gone off to an island, but Bruce had been unwilling to budge, insisting that New York had plenty of islands, built on the hardest rock, and Anthony agreed with him.  They had a responsibility to their people, to their city, to all of the things they had built, even though they had failed in their primary aim: building a safer city by joining with the police to get rid of the most dangerous organized crime. Carl hadn’t mentioned everything he’d discovered about John and Harold or Harold’s way with computers. Hadn’t mentioned even the obvious problems in their business: the lack of allies, the failure to see that ‘reuniting’ the five families would never have worked because they’d never really been united.  He hadn’t wanted to worry them.  
  
Anthony, always his rock, seemed to have sensed Carl’s uneasiness.  He’d always been affectionate, but after their separation he had been much freer with hugs, more tender in lovemaking.  So, Carl knew, when Anthony went right into the bathroom, without so much as a glance his way, that something was wrong. He turned on Puccini and sent the guards out into the hallway.   
  
Anthony felt Carl hovering in the doorway, looked away from the bloody water draining in the sink and up over his shoulder. Blinked the blink that shattered Carl’s heart.  The blink of his friend biting back pain. “You got it.” Anthony nodded.  
  
“I want a shower, boss,” said Anthony, looking back down at his battered knuckles.  There didn’t seem to be another mark or speck of blood on him.  Then Carl noticed the jacket. Not the one he’d left in that morning.  
  
“Do you want to go upstairs?” Anthony shook his head.  “Let’s go out the back.” Carl opened the secret door in the back of their linen closet. He kissed Anthony’s cheek.  At the bottom of the secret stairs, two men waited patiently while Anthony helped Carl into a battered jacket and cap in dark grey and donned his own in muddy green. They melted into the shadows.  A few turnings brought them to a seemingly abandoned building.  The men skirted the trash and slipped in through the next-door garage, said hello to the custodian, then gave the all-clear.   
  
Anthony went first, flipped on the lights, revealing a pleasantly shabby apartment they used when they needed a quiet place to rest in this part of town. Anthony checked all the rooms and closets while Carl closed the door and opened the refrigerator, which held the makings of a good putanesca. Water started in the bathroom, then music. Rachel Portman from one of the costume dramas Detective Carter had brought while Anthony recuperated from his gunshot wound. Carl’s eyes closed. “Boss?” Carl hurried to his friend’s side.  
  
Anthony stood uneasily, his shirt half undone, hands shaking over a bulletproof vest (courtesy of Detective Carter) studded with slugs (courtesy of a Yogorov thug who would still have been somewhat upset because Anthony had killed his beloved leader, had Anthony not taken him out). Carl moved forward and pulled Anthony’s shirt open, unfastened the vest and took in the huge mass of purpling bruises.  
  
“Oh, my heart. Anthony. Why didn't you go to the hospital?” Carl’s voice shook more than Anthony’s fingers. “Is anything broken?” Anthony shrugged sheepishly. Carl cupped his face in both hands.  “What were you thinking, mi amore?”  
  
“Last time…” Anthony started.  Carl went still. “They know you’ll put me first.  It’s too dangerous….”  
  
“For me. So you put me first. Again.” Carl pressed his lips against Anthony’s. “Come, Bello. Let’s see if anything is broken.” Anthony let Carl undress him and sat, in his underwear and calf holsters, which he refused to take off because they didn’t keep (enough) weapons stashed in the bathroom, while Carl carefully cleaned his hurts and fed him painkillers, kissing Anthony’s forehead whenever he winced. When Carl straightened up, Anthony rested his head against Carl’s chest, wrapped arms around his waist.     
  
Carl stroked Anthony’s hair and back.  “Ah, my beautiful Anthony.”  Carl took his lover’s hand and helped him into the bed, then took off his holsters, and set the guns where Anthony could reach them easily.  Anthony smiled as Carl tucked him in under the sheet and kissed his forehead yet again.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” said Carl.  He went into the bathroom and washed up, leaving the door open so he could watch Anthony, lying motionless against the pillows. Donning a robe, Carl circled back to the kitchen and opened a bottle of scotch. He brought a tray into the bedroom.  Anthony opened his eyes and smiled.  He accepted a glass and sipped while Carl taped pain patches over his bruises.  
  
“Hungry?”  Anthony shook his head. Carl moved to the DVD player. “You want that movie?”  
  
“It’s Ok, boss,” said Anthony.  “If you have work.” Carl sat and took Anthony’s hand.  
  
“I’d rather take care of you,” said Carl, smoothing Anthony’s hair from his face and kissing him. Anthony wriggled and moved the sheet, which had tented over his lap.  Carl grinned.   
  
“May I see to that?” Carl asked.   
  
“I don’t know if I can…” said Anthony sheepishly.  As in many things, he often took the more active role in their lovemaking.   
  
“I’ll take care of you,” said Carl, kissing Anthony deeply, while he pulled the sheet away and helped him strip off his shorts.  Carl teased his lover ever so gently until Anthony arched his back, gasping “Carlie,”as he climaxed. Carl always felt a prickle of sadness in those moments, the loss of the days when Anthony called him Carlie all the time, instead of only in these most private times.  Anthony pulled up with a grunt and kissed Carl again. “My turn, Carlie,” he murmured, eyes smouldering.   
  
Afterward, Anthony nestled in Carl’s arms.  “If you need some time… a furlough…” Carl said.  
  
Anthony snorted. “You don’t pay enough attention. You’ll get killed.”  Carl kissed him again. “Tell me what’s been bothering you, mi amore?” Anthony said. Carl, finally, told him what he suspected about Harold and the Machine.  That something was wrong. That they were on the run from an enemy so terrifyingly evil, it made closing a baby in a freezer look innocent.  Anthony lay quietly until he had finished. “We’ve had a good run, boss,” he said. “More than thirty years.”  
  
“I want to grow old with you,” said Carl. Anthony reached up to kiss him. “I’ve always wanted to give you a nicer life, Anthony,” Carl continued. “Maybe I still can. Maybe Yogorov was right.  Maybe we should go.”  
  
“My life can’t be better than this,” said Anthony.  “I…as long as we’re together,”  his voice broke. Carl cupped his face in a hand.  
  
“Hush, my Anthony,” Carl crooned. “Close your eyes.” Carl soothed him to sleep.  
  
Anthony woke a few hours later, still nestled in Carl’s arms. “We should get back.”  
  
“It’s all right, Bello,” said Carl, smoothing his hair and kissing him. “Go back to sleep. We can lay low for a while longer.”  
  
Anthony touched the dark circles under Carl’s eyes. “You haven’t slept. Let’s go back.”  
  
They made their way back, to their more usual home.  Carl didn’t have to pretend to be exhausted, and the men knew to leave him alone when he was that tired. They undressed and put on pajamas. “Thank you, Anthony,” Carl said. Anthony gave a perplexed grunt.  
  
“For protecting me.”  Anthony just looked. “There’s something wrong.  You wouldn’t have made me come back otherwise.”  
  
“Carlie,” Anthony started sorrowfully. Carl’s face went the ashy color of 3-day-old New York snow. “I’m sick.  Real sick.”  Carl sank to the bed and Anthony sat beside him and took his hand. “I didn't know how to say.”  
  
Carl suddenly understood why Anthony had been so much more affectionate than usual. “Is there anything they can do?”  
  
Anthony shrugged. He didn't say that there would be no safe place for him to recover, that the betrayal of their allies in HR and the new war with Dominic made this impossible.  “I want to go out fighting.   _Invictus_.”  
  
Carl paused.  “I could ask Harold. They owe me.”  
  
“But they’re on the run.” Carl nodded.  
  
“You could go underground. We can send you to…”  Anthony’s face crumpled, tearing Carl’s heart in half. And then Carl knew that Anthony had already tried everything, weighed all the options, and chosen to die at his side rather than taking a chance with Carl’s life.  
  
Carl folded him into an embrace.  “No. I apologize, my Anthony.  That was selfish of me.”  
  
“I’m so sorry, Carlie,” Anthony gasped.  They nestled together quietly, thinking. In the end, Anthony came up with a plan to get rid of Dominic.  “War demands sacrifice.  I’m your queen.”  
  
“You’re all the pieces to me, Anthony. The whole game.”  
  
Anthony sat up, winced, and wiped his eyes. “That’s why it will work. When I go, you stay by them.” Carl kissed his forehead and went for the box of pain patches. They set up the chess board and began a game, then drifted back to bed where they made love again and again. In the morning, Carl got up and took care of business.  Anthony emerged, mouth tight against the pain, his brow daring Carl to send him back to bed. Carl finally told the men not to bother them.  He tucked an arm around Anthony’s waist.  
  
“Come back to bed, Anthony,” he said.  “You’re more important right now.”  
  
They slept on and off for the rest of the day and then a knock came at the door. Carl shuffled into a bathrobe and opened it.  Carl rubbed the top of his head, his usual gesture of sleepiness.   
  
“Sorry, sir.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Giancarlo called about your dinner. You had reservations.” Anthony appeared, in his favorite suit, looking so exquisitely handsome that Carl nearly burst out crying.  
  
“We’ll eat here,” Anthony said. “The boss still needs some rest.”  
  
Carl went back to the bedroom while Anthony went into the hallway and spoke to the guards.  “You did good, Marco,” he heard Anthony say in an approving voice. Then Anthony came back. “They say they can’t do their jobs if we go off and take care of business in the middle of the night.” Carl smiled.  
  
“They did their jobs by creating a diversion. Let’s get you back out of those clothes,” said Carl.  “Hungry?” Anthony shrugged. “Go get in bed.  I’ll cook and bring you a plate.”  
  
“Boss?”  
  
“Yes, Anthony?”  
  
“Let’s make love again.”  
  
“Whatever you want, Anthony.”  Anthony smiled and held out a hand. “After you have something to eat.”  
  
Anthony put on pajamas to cover his pain patches, settled into the bed.  He glowed with affection when Carl came back with a tray.  “Thanks, Carlie,” he said, and opened his mouth obediently when Carl insisted on feeding him.   
  
Carl kissed him. “I like it when you call me Carlie. It reminds me of the old days.”  Anthony smiled.  They ate companionably and then Carl took the plate back into the kitchen.  When he returned, Anthony’s eyes were closed, so Carl turned out the lights and moved to go into the other room and get back to work.  A small, indignant noise made Carl turn back.   
  
“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” Carl said, climbing into the bed.   Anthony tilted his head, annoyed. Carl chuckled. “My Bello. I’m flattered that you still want me so much.”  
  
Anthony replied by kissing him. “Boss, I…” he swallowed.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything, Anthony,” said Carl. “You’ve always put me first. You don’t owe me anything more.”  
  
“Except my soul,” said Anthony. “Carlie, for someone like me… I was dead inside when I met you, and you taught me so much. Love. Honor. Loyalty. Patience. How to protect the people I love.”  
  
Carl’s heart swelled. “No, my beautiful lover. You’re the one who taught me.” Carl kissed Anthony, and Anthony smiled and tugged at Carl’s pants.  He almost melted in the look of love on his friend’s face.  
  
They made love, long, slow and tender love, then Anthony settled his head on Carl’s shoulder.  “You’re all the pieces to me, too,” Anthony murmured, then fell asleep.  Carl lay awake for a long time, burning the image of that beloved face into his heart and mind.  He had always known that they could die any day, but he had never expected this type of news.  Finally, despite the comforting weight of his lover in his arms, Carl wept. And Anthony, as always, stirred instantly, and moved to help his friend. 


End file.
